


All Shook Up

by songlin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dysphoria, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Verbal Humiliation, Strap-Ons, Trans Character, Trans John, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songlin/pseuds/songlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I thought about what you said the other night," Sherlock says. "I want you to know what it's like. I want you to feel me tremble and come around you the way I feel you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Shook Up

**Author's Note:**

> You can view this as a sort of spiritual successor to [Packing Heat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1200201). Not really a sequel, per se, but I see them as happening in the same universe.
> 
> As ever, nothing presented in this fic is true across the board of all trans people. John is a unique specimen with his own preferences for terminology, surgery, sexual practices, and so on. If you'd like more information, please let me know! Similarly, if I messed up somewhere, please let me know that too!
> 
> Both the third-party dicks mentioned here really exist. This is the [Tantus Feeldoe](http://www.tantusinc.com/products/feeldoe), and this is the [Ambrosia Vibe](http://www.orgasmatronics.com/products/ambrosia-vibe). I've taken some liberties with how the Ambrosia actually works, since I don't own one myself. They should probably rectify this by sending me a free one. You know, to correct any mistakes I made in describing their product.
> 
> LATER EDIT: Scroll down to the comments. _Someone there owns an Ambrosia._ Apparently, if anything, it's _more_ sensitive than what I described. So, if anyone's got $200 to throw at a starving gay writer...

John's mouth slides off the end of Sherlock's cock with a wet pop. Panting, he turns his head to the side and leans his forehead against Sherlock's thigh.

"Oh God," he gasps. "Oh my God, Sherlock. I'm—"

Sherlock hums his encouragement around John's small cock and hooks his fingers into the anterior wall of John's cunt. John cries out, stiffens, and comes.

Sherlock licks him through it, gentle and patient. As John relaxes, Sherlock slows his rhythm, then gently withdraws.

Once John's gotten his breath back, he asks, "How do you want me to finish you?"

And Sherlock replies in a strangled tone that makes John's fingertips tingle, "Get the—thing. Purple thing. I want you to fuck me."

John resists the urge to pump his fist. As it is, he rolls to the side, fetches lube and his favorite low-maintenance friend from the drawer in the bedside table, kneels up, and smacks Sherlock's bum.

"Turn over, then, you big slut," he says fondly.

Sherlock turns over. John smirks.

"No objection on the title?"

Sherlock just growls and cants his bum up. "Come on," he whines.

John pushes Sherlock's head down. Not hard, just enough of a nudge to really accentuate the sinuous arch of his back. He drags his hand slowly down that curve, and his middle finger traces a path down Sherlock's spine until it slides between Sherlock's cheeks and gently presses in.

John had gotten two fingers up him earlier, and he's still pretty slick and open. John works his fingers in and out, adding lube when necessary. Sherlock mashes his face into the pillows and moans.

"Please," he sighs.

John's cock throbs. He winces. "Yeah, yeah, let me just—"

His on-hand-at-all-times trusty silicone cock is a seven-inch-long purple Tantus Feeldoe, a "strapless strap-on." No harness, just a little bulb at the end that sits just inside Slot A and held in place with the pelvic muscles as the other end is inserted into Slot B. He squats a little and pushes it into place. It's not enough to really make him feel full. But it lets him feel a reaction, or at least more than anything with a harness does.

There is little he wants more than to sink into his lover's body and feel—actually, directly _feel_ —that body clench around his length. He is almost derailed by the sudden force with which he wants that. It gives him pause, even as he's slicking up and relishing the accompanying tugs of pressure. He is briefly distracted by the sinking, spiraling sense of wrongness, of body and mind finding a disconnection in what they found in each other.

"John?"

Sherlock isn't being demanding. Indeed, judging by the change in his tone, he seems to be quite sweetly concerned. John bites back a smile.

"Um. Sorry. Got a bit...lost."

"Can you continue?" Despite sounding as if the prospect is only just preferable to a colonoscopy, Sherlock manages to make it clear that John is free to say "no."

John thinks himself over. "Yeah," he says. "It was just a, um. Passing thing." No pun intended, ha ha.

"Oh, thank God," Sherlock says, and pushes his head against the pillow again.

John tightens his pelvic muscles, gets a good hold on Sherlock's hips, and gets to it.

Sherlock is so wonderfully responsive like this. Every light scrape of John's fingernails makes him gasp, every hard thrust forces out a moan, and every brush of John's lips to his spine makes him arch and writhe. John throbs. He fucks into Sherlock all the harder and tries to get enough pressure on his cock to finish himself off.

"John," Sherlock pants, after what seems to be no time at all, "I'm—"

John grits his teeth. "If you could _just_ —"

Sherlock whines, and John grimaces. Just then, the silicone cock rubs up and by John's slick flesh, and it's all he needs to shake apart. Sherlock takes hold of himself as soon as he hears John dissolve. In barely three strokes, he's stiffening and coming with a cry.

They tumble sideways. John extracts the Tantus and drops it off the edge of the bed.

"You want to go clean up?" he asks, knowing the answer.

Sherlock makes a despairing noise. John pokes him in the back of the head.

"Fine. You can launder the smelly sex sheets, then."

He won't, but it makes John feel better to at least try to issue discipline.

"John."

"Sherlock."

"I have, erm, been given to understand that asking about someone's genitalia—"

"Sherlock, what—"

"—is considered rude," he finishes loudly.

John blinks. "Yes."

"Can I, though?"

John shuts up his inner smartarse ("I don't know, _can_ you?") and raises an eyebrow. "Er, go ahead."

"You haven't had any sort of...surgery. On—"

"Bottom surgery, as the kids call it."

Sherlock clears his throat. "Yes. That."

"Brilliant observation. One of your best." Sherlock turns his head round to glare. John hides his grin. "Sorry. Go on."

"Would it be unacceptably presumptuous to ask why?"

John considers this. Frankly, it is pretty presumptuous. But not much more presumptuous than stealing John's underwear because Sherlock won't buy his own, or elbowing into the shower with him because he "couldn't wait for you to use all the hot water," or sleeping in John's bed simply because John isn't in it. And John doesn't really mind all that much.

"Short version? Don't like what's on the market," he says lightly. "The pneumatic, manually-operated willies are not for me, and there's the risk of desensitization no matter which surgery you go with." John screws up his face. "And at this point, I'm tired of going under the knife. So, I'll keep what I've got, thank you very much."

Sherlock does not say anything. He is silent for so long, in fact, that John wonders if he's fallen asleep. But of course, still having a problem to pick at, he can't shut up for forever.

"But you want _more,"_ he says.

John sighs. "Look, I won't lie and say I don't. I love topping, I love topping _you._ But I get...distracted. Thinking about what it'd feel like if I could really _feel_ you, myself. Coming from being _in_ you, not from being _against_ you. Having your body do that to my body, and doing that to yours with mine." John bites his lip. That's not quite it, but he doesn't have the words to describe what he means. He doesn't know if the words exist.

"I see," says Sherlock.

"I doubt it," says John. But then he kisses the back of Sherlock's neck, which means "But thanks for trying," and Sherlock hums contentedly, which means, "Of course; I see everything."

John pulls the covers up. Sherlock takes John's hand and places it over his side. Both of these mean the same thing.

———

"Evening, Sherlock."

Sherlock nods his protective eyewear off his forehead and onto his nose. He's got a properly good-looking pair, the sort that look like cool sunglasses and don't leave an ugly line. John's half-convinced he's been making up experiments just to use them, the git. "If you're worried about dinner, I'll be finished by then. Go change your clothes. You reek of disinfectant."

John sticks out his tongue. "I was _going_ to, _Mum."_

"Good. No complaints then."

John sighs and heads upstairs, shedding clothes as he goes. He tosses his jumper and shirt into the hamper. When he sits down on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, he bumps a package with his hip. He kicks his loafers into the corner and pulls the package closer.

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Did you leave something in my bedroom?"

_"Noooooo."_

John narrows his eyes. "I'll just bin it, then, yeah?"

"No—no!"

Sherlock drops several tools with a clatter and bounds up the stairs. He bursts into the room with his eyewear still on.

"It is imperative that you wait until after dinner to open that," he says, looming ominously.

"Er...okay then?"

Sherlock's gaze bores into John. "Imperative," he repeats.

Placated, if still suspicious, John sets the package down. "Five minutes and I'll have clothes."

As if he's only just remembered that his friend is naked, Sherlock's eyes drag from the top of John's head to his bare waist and defined hipbones. John's stomach flip-flops. Sherlock tuts, and returns downstairs.

Sherlock is only just finished with his coagulation experiment when John finishes the pasta and sets the table. Dinner that night is a tense affair. Sherlock keeps trying to steal glances at John without getting caught. John pretends not to notice and continues picking away at his spaghetti.

Sherlock wolfs down his food and finishes first. John takes his time, despite Sherlock rattling with anticipation next to him. He's given up any attempt at subtlety and is now staring John down from across the table. Just for that, John spends a long time scraping the sauce off all the corners of the plate and licking the fork clean.

Sherlock explodes out of his chair, stacks their plates and utensils and drops them into the sink with a clatter. John leans away from the mayhem and raises his hands.

"You'll clear, then," he says.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Can we go upstairs now?"

"You were the one who—oh, never mind."

Sherlock races upstairs. John follows up at a more reasonable speed. When he gets to his bedroom, Sherlock is already slicing open the packing tape on the box with his fingernail.

"Oi, I thought that was for me?"

"It is," Sherlock says, folding the box open and presenting it to John.

John reaches into the box and lifts out another box. He holds it up. The label announces itself as the "Ambrosia Vibe by Orgasmatronics." Inside the box is a black silicone dildo with a slot in the base, a small gold vibrator, and a battery pack.

"Oh!" John smiles, frowns, then smiles again, but a little more forced. "Thanks!"

It's not that he doesn't like it. New cocks are always lovely. He'd just…been expecting more, given the lead-up.

Sherlock flaps a dismissive hand. "I know, I know, you've plenty of packers. Look. This one's different."

John shakes the contents of the box onto the bed, picks up the instruction booklet, and skims it over.

_Massage the dildo, and Ambrosia Vibe pleasures the strap-on wearer.The Ambrosia Vibe is a new type of strap-on dildo that responds to touch. The unique Ambrosia Pressure Sense Technology™ perceives motion on the dildo and transfers sensation to the user via a vibrator at the base of the unit. The Ambrosia Vibe allows the strap-on wearer to actually "feel" the sexual stimulation applied to the dildo!_

John's eyebrows are climbing his forehead.

_A “vein” that senses pressure from massage with the mouth, hand, and other parts of the body runs along the underside of the Ambrosia dildo. The pressure applied to this vein is transmitted via a tube to the control box. The control box measures pressure using some extremely sexy math, and the bullet vibe in the base of the dildo vibrates in response. The strap-on is designed to be worn in a harness with the base positioned against the wearer’s clitoris, so they can feel the stimulation._

"I...oh."

Sherlock is positively beaming. He bounces on his heels—actually _bounces—_ and leans in. "You see?"

John swallows. "Mm."

Sherlock leans in further, takes John's elbows, and pulls him in. "I thought about what you said the other night," he says. "I want you to know what it's like."

John licks his lips. "Yeah?"

"I want you to feel me tremble and come around you the way I feel you."

John makes a small, high sound like an "eep."

"It's unparalleled, John." God, does his voice have to do that? That thing where it drops all low and dark and rough?

John clamps his jaw shut and clenches his fists against a shiver. He steels himself and tries to summon every scrap of his officer's steel will.

"Well," he deadpans, "we'd best be getting to it, then."

Sherlock makes a delighted noise, flings himself backwards onto the bed, and starts shedding clothes.

John strips down, fits the vibe into the slot in the dildo, fits the dildo into his harness, and pulls the whole kit up. It's a bit awkward maneuvering the battery pack up to his waist, but he gets it in the end. The switch is on the battery pack. He flips it on.

"You have to tell me what it feels like as you go," Sherlock orders. "It's essential."

John smirks. "For science, of course."

Sherlock scowls. "Oh, for God's sake!"

John looks down at his new dick. It's not large, maybe six inches and just big enough to wrap his fingers around. But it's wickedly curved in a way he knows is going to make Sherlock's toes curl. He grins and takes it in hand. It lets out a small but noticeable pulse against John's bits. John's grin widens in delight.

"The guide said squeezing and releasing would deliver a short, gentle pulse," Sherlock says. He is half-hard and not touching himself.

"It wasn't lying," says John, rather breathlessly. He squeezes again. "Mm."

A flush is creeping up Sherlock's cheeks. "Oh, God."

John is finding that if he squeezes and holds, he gets a nice, slow throbbing vibration out of the vibe. He experiments: squeeze…two, three. Squeeze…two, three, four.

"This was not a bad idea," he says breathlessly.

"Imagine what it's going to feel like fucking me," Sherlock says.

John's head swims. He's fucked Sherlock before and enjoyed it immensely. But this toy opens up a whole new realm of possibility. He'll be able to _feel_ it.

"Oh fuck."

Sherlock kneels up. "Come here," he demands. "I want to try."

John lets go of the dildo and crawls up the bed. Sherlock grabs him by the hips and pulls them together.

"Here, I want to—" He lowers himself so he's sitting on his heels and takes hold of the dildo. "Tell me what works," he says, and squeezes.

John's familiar with that one, though the additional element of surprise is adding something. Sherlock keeps up with John's squeeze, release, squeeze, release pattern until John is just starting to rock into it and trying to get more pressure. Then he starts pulling him off properly.

It takes two or three pulls before the vibe registers the difference, or Sherlock gets his thumb in the right place, or whatever it needed. Anyways, it kicks on for real with a low-grade, steady hum that makes John's toes curl.

"Oh. Oh, _Sherlock_."

Sherlock doesn't say anything. He just moans and palms his own cock with his free hand.

"Yeah, that's good. Will it—if you—just a little more—"

Sherlock squeezes tighter, or moves faster, or both, and the vibrator kicks it up another notch. John grits his teeth.

"God, fuck, I can't believe this," he pants. "Gonna—"

So _of-fucking-course_ Sherlock lets go and throws himself back onto the bed. "Don't you _dare_. Get the—the stuff. Want you to come fucking me."

John would be pitching a fit about the near-orgasm, but there is the prospect of coming in Sherlock. He fumbles around on the bedside table for the lube.

"Just a—got it."

Sherlock snatches it from him and squeezes a bead onto his hand. He's got a finger up himself faster than John can blink. John takes hold of the dildo and tries to replicate what Sherlock pulled off earlier. There's a couple false starts, but then John gets the hang.

"I've dreamt about this," he says huskily. "Feeling what you feel like inside." It's not quite the way he's imagined it, but it's _so_ good. The closest John can get, given current technology and his preferences.

"I paid for the bigger size," Sherlock says. He pushes a second finger in and whines. "It seemed...appropriate."

_Sherlock thinks my cock is huge, oh my God,_ John thinks, somewhat hysterically. "Yeah?"

Sherlock bites his lip to smother a groan and nods, even as his eyelids flutter. "You have me in so many other ways. Have me this way."

"Oh fucking hell," John says fervently. He squeezes his legs together. "Can I—?"

"By all means," says Sherlock, letting his legs fall open.

John crowds in close. He holds onto Sherlock's hip with one hand and the base of the dildo with the other. "You good and ready?"

"You're joking."

John giggles and leans in enough to push the first inch in. Sherlock's breath catches. John grins.

"Felt that, didn't you?"

Sherlock swallows. "Come on, come in, you need to feel it too," he says, then grabs John by the waist and pulls him in.

That one registers with the vibe, and a deep, strong pulse thuds through them. John and Sherlock both gasp.

"Oh, fuck," John whispers.

Sherlock squirms underneath him. "You're not fucking me."

"Christ, but you're a bitchy little slut with a cock in you."

Sherlock does not argue. He just arcs up under John and whines.

John tries a small thrust. _Thrum_.

Sherlock bites his lip.

Again. _Thrum_.

"John."

"Wait!"

Again. Again. Again. _Thrum. Thrum. Thrummmm..._

The steady vibration kicks on, and John tries not to melt. He fights the urge to go faster, to make it feel better for himself. He's got to take care of Sherlock. Sherlock, who's clutching John's hips and throwing his head back and crying out in reckless abandon, dark curls mussed on the white sheets and looking like a God damned erotic painting. John grits his teeth and tries not to come yet.

"God," John pants. He leans forward and braces against the headboard. Sherlock, in return, reaches up and holds onto John. "Is this what it's like for you? I could come—fuck, come so fucking hard right now. But I want to see you go first. God. You're amazing. _Fuck_."

Sherlock squeezes John's waist. "Harder," he growls. "Fuck me harder and I'll come."

John shuts his eyes and tries to breathe while he keeps on plowing Sherlock. "Can't," he whines. "I'll come if I do." He can't believe there's a higher setting on this thing. He already feels like he's going to shake to pieces.

Sherlock's eyes narrow. "I'm not coming until you do."

John grits his teeth. "Okay. Okay." He stops and slides out of Sherlock. Sherlock makes a loud noise of utter outrage. "Turn over."

Sherlock scrambles to turn over. He gets on his elbows and knees, hollows his spine, and presents himself to John. John runs one reverent hand over the curve and squeezes. Sherlock groans. John idly slips one thumb in towards Sherlock's arsehole and traces over it.

"Do you need anything?" he asks. "More lube?"

"I need you to fuck me," Sherlock snaps.

John can't think of anything to say to that, so he just kneels up between Sherlock's legs, spreads his arse cheeks, and pushes home.

Sherlock reacts like he's been stabbed. Which, in a way, he has. He twists and his mouth falls open in shock. "Oh, God. It's—it's so deep."

"You like that, do you?" John says, getting hold of his hips and yanking him back. He's warming up to getting the steady vibration started again. Now that he's gotten the hang of it, he feels comfortable enough to do a bit of teasing. "You like it hard, and fast, and deep?"

Sherlock buries his face in the pillow.

"You want more?"

"Yes."

"Harder?" John pushes in with just that extra oomph, hips coming flush with Sherlock's plump arse.

"Yes."

"Faster?"

"God, yes." 

"Good."

John kicks up the speed and the vibe starts buzzing steadily against the two of them. They both gasp. Sherlock pushes back.

"Faster."

John reaches down, winds his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls, and yanks. "You'll get it faster when I let you."

Sherlock gasps and squirms, and John is suddenly filled with the need to give it to him faster _right now_. So, gripping Sherlock by the hair and the hip, he does.

The vibrator finally kicks on to the highest speed, and John instantly knows he's done for. "Sherlock. Ah,  _Sherlock_."

Sherlock is too busy slamming back against John in desperate counterpoint to process words. He looks utterly lost. It draws John out of himself for a moment, as he watches Sherlock's face go still. Then he curls in on himself, shudders with a gasp, and comes, hard enough to paint a small white splash on the pillow under his neck.

"Fuck. _Fuck._ Sherlock…"

John presses down into the vibrator just the tiniest bit harder, and it's all he needs. He dissolves into orgasm with a shout and keeps on fucking Sherlock, trying to draw it out as long as he can through the pulsing waves of pleasure.

Eventually, he comes down. He discovers Sherlock is swatting weakly at him.

"Okay, okay, I'm finished," he's saying.

John pulls out. It triggers one more little pulse against his oversensitive bits that makes him shiver.

"Definitely not a bad idea," says John. He wriggles out of the harness, rolls over, and sets the whole kit on the floor beside them. "Not a bad idea at all."

John scoots up to the headboard and leans against it. Sherlock, collapsed onto the pillows, nuzzles into the side of his thigh. John smiles.

"Bit out of it, are we?"

"Mm." Sherlock kisses John's leg. John giggles.

"Glad to oblige."

Sherlock kisses his leg again, less chastely. John's lips part.

"I—"

"Please," Sherlock says. He trains his lovely green eyes on John, and God, that bastard always gets what he wants.

John nods. Sherlock grins, rolls over, parts John's knees, and dives in.


End file.
